
Book -( D^T ^ 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIIV 



Three Senses 



-By 



Cari C, Countryman 



Part I. Good Sense 

Part II. Incense 

Part III. Nonsense 

VRESEMTATIOJW E "D I T I O JW 

LYCEUMITE PRESS 






LIBRARY of CONGRESS 

Two Copies Received 

JAN 6 1909 

CopyriK.it jtntry 
CLASS OU XXc, No 



:^PvVi3 



/9aS 



COPYRIGHT 
CARL C COUNTRYMAN 

1898-1908 



'i^ 



Contents 

Page 
Part I — Good Sense. 

I Hain't Got No Home 11 

Sold an' Gone 18 

The Work of God 24 

The Man That Walks 26 

Query on Man 29 

Consecration . . : 31 

God Is Love 32 

Dead, But the World Moves On 34 

Success 36 

A Hymn 37 

Ode Three 38 

New Year's Resolves 39 

Part II — Incense. 

Baby Mine 43 

Ode Four 45 

Aniorosa Carmina Collegialia 47 

Ode Seven 50 

Ode One 51 

Ode Two 54 

Ode Twelve 56 

Ode Five 57 

The Prettiest Woman 58 

An Acrostic 61 

Part III — Nonsense. 

Ethel May 65 

Ode Eight 72 

"In It" 74 

Notes 79 



Part I. GOOD SENSE 



I Hain't Got No Home 



I'm trav'lin' up and down 

Through city an' through town, 

I'm wandrin' here an' there 

Like a soul that doesn't care 

Where it's goin' ; 

I'm hired out to travel 

Fer my readin' an' recitin' 

But where I'll be a-goin' 

After readin' all my writin' 

I'm not knowin', 

Fer I 

hain't got 

no home. 

The cyars ar' big an' fine 
On the finest kind o' line, 
The enjine's tough an' strong 
To carry us along 
To where we're pintin'; 
The cyars are fixed for sleepin' 
A-runnin' easy, swift an' light, 
Their rollin' an' their rockin' 
Make 'em of all earth's things jest right 
To spend the night in 
To the feller ez 
hain't got 

no home. 



n 



I see along the road 

The farmers on a load 

Of straw er hay er grain, 

An' then I see again 

Children playin'; 

I see the winders lighted, 

Sometimes, when passin' in the night, 

'N' I wonder if the children 

A-kneelin' by the bright home light 

Think of prayin' 

Fur fellers ez 

hain't got 

no home. 

I see the medders green, 
The hosses slick an' clean. 
An' mules an' pigs an' sheep, 
'N' it's mighty hard to keep 
From cryin' 

To see the colts a-jumpin' 
An' the winter wheat a-wavin' 
As if it hed been thinkin' 
An' its waves fur me ben %avin'; 
It's tryin' 
To a feller ez 
hain't got 

no home. 



'N' I wanter get off there 
An' hop inter a pair 
O' boots an' jump an' run 
An' hev a pile o' fun 
An' foller 

The cows home from the pascher 
An' feed the pigs and sheep an' hosses. 
Applause an' all hands clappin' 
An' even gains ten times the losses 
Ar' holler 
To the feller ez 
hain't got 

no home. 

I wanter go each day 
An' dally 'long the way 
From school, an' fear at home 
Thet there'll be sure to come 
A spankin'; 

An' chase the turkey gobblers 
An' own an' name the chickens, 
Not in my heart a-thinkin' 
Of feelin' like the dickins 
Nor rankin* 
With fellers ez 
hain't got 

no home. 

13 



i wanter go an' play 

An' mow the hay away 

An' carry grain in sacks 

An' pitch the wheat an' flax 

'N' oats an' clover; 

An' sit at home of evenin's 

Eatin' corn an' nuts an' tellin' 

Old stories, but all them things — 

Playin', crackin' jokes an' yellin' — 

Is all over 

'N' I 

hain't got 

no home. 

The hotels where I eat 
Are neatest kind o' neat, 
With gas an' steam an' things, 
An' elevator brings 
You a-sudden 

To any floor you're wantin'; 
Waiters too at meals an' plenty 
Of grub in thirteen courses. 
Pies an' cakes an' more than twenty 
Kinds o' puddin" 
To tempt the feller ez 
hain't got 

no home. 

14 



But what's the use o' food 
No matter how so good 
When you don't never feel 
A-hungrin' for a meal 
O' your vittles; 
I wanter stop this livin', 
Go back home and hunt the cellar 
Fur pies an' be a-havin' 
Bowls o' soup hot for each feller 
From the kittles; 

"Twould seem good to the feller ez 
hain't got 

no home. 

An' when I'm old an' gray, 

My life all gone away 

An', sick with many ills, 

Money gone for doctors' bills — 

Me a-dyin' — 

My friends will raise me money 

Fur a place fur me to sleep in; 

They'll ask "Where's he a-livin'?" 

An' I'll hear some one a-weepin' 

An' replyin' 

He 

hain't got 

no home. 

15 



But when I'm dead an' gone 

An' when I wake up on 

A better, brighter shore, 

Where death can be no more, 

I'll be a-seein' 

My mother's robe the whitest 

An' I'll hear her softly sayin' 

In tones the very sweetest, 

I've ben watchin', too, an' prayin' 

Fur you, bein' 

My boy thet 

didn't have 

no home. 

Yes, when my knell is rung 

An' when my dirge is sung 

'N' I'm lyin' in the ground, 

With dead folks all around 

Me a-moldin'. 

My friends will raise me money — 

Folks will quickly stop their fightin' 

An' build a modest tombstone. 

On it they will be a-writin' 

This is holdin' 

A feller thet 

didn't hev 

no home. 

16 



But he was good an* true 
An' honest all way through, 
We're sure thet he will stand 
Where, in a better land, 
Skies is meller; 

Fur he was surely worthy them things 
An' so we'll stop our weepin' 
A-trustin' thet our former comrade 
Who's now so sweetly sleepin' 
Is a feller 
Thet hez gone 
to his 

best home. 



17 



Sold an' Gone 



Sometimes when a feller, dad, 

Is travelin' all aroun' 
An' only stoppln' fur a day 

Or so in any town, 
Without a home where he can go, 
Without home joys fur him to know; 

With strangers all aroun' him, dad, 

An' tho' they're kind enuff 
They can't be jest what old friends is 

Whose friendship's tried and tuff 
Who've known fur years him and his kin, 
An' stood by them through thick an' thin. 

Ah! when a feller's thus ways, dad, 

The queerest feelin' creeps 
Right up his back, sometimes, an' down. 

An' then his old heart leaps 
Up in his throat — an' achin' comes 
At seein' others in their homes. 

It seems as if — if he could see 

The old homestead again 
An' wander 'round among the spots 

In which he hasn't ben 
Fur years, 'twould ease him of his pain 
Ef he could see them sights again. 

18 



Fur there is always places, dad. 

A feller wants to see, 
May be a spring, may be a hill. 

May be an old oak tree, 
May be a place where he has played. 
May be a grave in quiet shade. 

I've wisht to see the old home, dad, 

Fur many a long, long day, 
An' thought of places on an' roun' 

The farm so far away — 
I've wisht to see the sights again. 
That I recall to mind so plain. 

I've wisht to walk along the road 

From town, an' think of what 
Adventures fur us little kids 

Had happened at each spot — 
The swimmin' pools, the creek, the bridge, 
The bluffs, the road along the ridge. 

The fishin' places, rocks an' run — 

The wat'rin' place — an' stand 
An' think of what took place there 

When it was on our land. 
An' cross the gully in the trees — 
Tall oaks a-swayin' in the breeze — 

19 



You jest kin see the old home, dad, 

An' I have thought so much 
Thet when I got to that place, dad, 

I'd stop an' let old thoughts an' such 
Of childhood's times run through my head, 
Mem'ries all of hours that's sped. 



I've thought of how I'd wander roun' 

An' stop along the way; 
Why, here I fisht an' here I swum 

An' here I used to play 
An' here I killed an old muskrat, 
Here I did this, here I did that. 



An' here's the cow paths in the woods. 

Known but to Roll an' me, 
An' here's the spring an' here's plum grove 

An' here's the but'nut tree 
An' here's the broad, flat roun' 
That used to be our circus groun'. 



I can't begin to tell you, dad. 
The thoughts that cum to me — 

What nooks an' paths an' dells an' groves 
'Twould gladden me to see — 

A thousand fancies swum before my eyes, 

A thousand mem'ries such as never dies. 



A thousand thoughts run through my head 

Of what I'd do an' say, 
Of where I'd go and when and hew 

When I should chance to stay 
Aroun' the old farm that I was brought up 

on — 
The dear old home of ourn that's sold an" 
gone. 



I've ben to see the old home, dad; 

When I stepped off the train 
'Twas afternoon an' I was ast to stop 

In town time an' again. 
But though they tried with all their might, 
I'll see the dear old home to-night. 

An' then I walked along the road 

An' saw the places where 
I spoke of, but they ain't the same 

As when us folks was there; 
They ain't the same an' yet they be, 
They don't seem quite the same to me. 

The bridge is moved four rods up stream. 

The walnut tree's cut down — 
The biggest, tallest tree it was 

In all the country roun' — 
An' Hamlin's run, where water flowed so cool 
A-gurglin' down the rocks and made a pool 



Right in the road, is filled up now. 

A shute's put in, an' then 
Right up the gully in plain sight 

You see a slaughter pen 
An' house, an' what was once wild-flower beds 
Is strewed with cattle legs an' horns an' 
heads; 

The wat'rin' place ain't used no more, 

An' where we used to pick 
Our hazel nuts is cleared off now, 

An' where they were so thick 
Corn an' pertaters grow, an' here I stand. 
But can't jest make it seem like our land. 

The house an' barn are much the same — 

Some trees are cut away. 
The spring's dried out, the path's grown up, 

But look what side I may 
I can't see much of any change — 
An' yet it's strange — it's all so strange. 

The barn is there, though painted brown. 

The house has got a stoop 
Aroun' the south side now. I can't 

Tell why my spirits droop, 
An' yet they do; I'm not to blame — 
The same — the same — yet not the same. 

22 



I climb the hill an' wander off 

The way we went to school, 
An' grit my teeth an' stop my tears — 

Don't say, dad, I'm a fool — 
It ain't the old home I've ben on; 
The old home's sold — yes, sold an' gone. 

Yes, sold an' gone, an' dead an' gone, 

An' all I've left is thoughts 
An' names an' mem'ries dear an' sweet 

About all precious spots. 
It ain't the old home I've ben on. 
The old home's sold — yes, sold an' gone. 



23 



The Work of God 



Ah, how illustrious is he 
Who, in the face of destiny, 

Pursues an upright course; 
Who boldly throttles fate's decree, 
And makes an opportunity 

What others make a curse. 

Who sorely is with choler pent — 
Mayhap with baser passions rent — 

And fiery, untamed mood; 
Yet curbs his fury till 'tis spent, 
And turns his soul's unworthy bent 

To work his noblest good. 

Or who, tho poor and lowly born, 
Exposed to cursed, unrighteous scorn 

Of all the world beside. 
In no wise deems himself forlorn, 
But bravely makes his feelings, torn. 

Expel unholy, godless pride. 

Or he, who sprung from those untaught- 
Almost without the gift of thought — 

Becomes a learned man; 
And, when the noble fight is fought. 
Enjoys the boon that toil hath bought 

In earth's most cultured clan. 

24 



Or he who, born 'mid vice and crime 
In lowest depths of moral slime, 

And like the earthly clod, 
Relieves himself of grievous grime, 
And learns, in acts and thoughts sublime, 

To honor Christ and God. 

He who has all this duty done 
Makes, with his course so nobly run, 

The world to understand 
With self-control — a virtue won — 
Of all the creatures 'neath His sun 

God's greatest work is man. 



The Man That Walks 

To S. L. W. 



The way is stony, rough and steep; 
The hills are high, the valleys deep: 

And stout must be his heart, 
As people pass of every mind, 
In vehicle of every kind, 

Bike, auto, saddle, carriage, cart. 
By the man that walks. 



With watchful eye and ready twist. 
The haughty automobilist 

Whirls by, nor deigns to sound his gong; 
Poles, fences, bridges, houses, trees. 
Stones, holes, two tracks are all he sees, 

As swiftly whizzes he along 
Past the man that walks. 



But when the mountain height he gains 
And gazes on the far stretched plains, 

His soul mounts up on joyful wings; 
No dust-fraught vehicles are here 
So God and Nature draw more near 

And up he lifts his voice and sings — 
Does the man that walks. 



So in earth's choicest dells and nooks — 
In peaceful shade, by pearly brooks — 

On mountain height, in forest glade — 
Alone, alone, but filled with glee. 
Alone, alone, with spirit free, 

'Mid scenes God's hand alone has laid. 
Is the man that walks. 



And when, at length, he reaches town 
And at the table sits him down 

With charming gusto he employs 
The various kinds of wholesome food, 
Potatoes, meat and all things good 

Comprise the meal that he enjoys — 
Of the man that walks. 



And when, at night, he seeks his rest, 
He is with sweetest slumbers blest. 

Whilst prickling care is left behind 
Till, when he wakes at early dawn, 
All trace of weariness has gone 

Refreshed in body, soul and mind. 
Is the man that walks. 



What matchless privilege has he 
God's wondrous universe to see! 
What wealth of scenery untold! 

27 



How often on the mountain height 
The sun's reflected, mellow light 
Turns all the world to gold — 
For the man that walks! 

Receives he many jibes the while 
But learns to suffer them — and smile- 
Endure slights lightly — and forgive- 
He learns to hunger, eat with zest. 
Be satisfied, tire, sleep, and rest 

In short, he learns to truly live — 
Does the man that walks. 



Query on Man 



What is man, O God, 

That Thou art mindful of him 
And tal^eth heed 

Unto the voice of his cry? 

At first the infant, 

Smail monarch of his little world, 
Yet fretting and crying 

The months away. 

And then, the joyous child. 

Forgetful of sorrows past 
And blind to those ahead, 

Yet whose very joys 
Become so soon but bitter memories of the past 

To make the present life more bitter. 

And then, the thoughtless, careless youth 

With heights of joy and depths of pain un- 
speakable 
In ecstasy of requited love 

Or throes of disappointment — 
All soon forgot as he turns his eyes 

Toward the alluring future 
When he will achieve 

Fame, fortune and great happiness. 

And then long life, 

Full of turns and changes, 



Vague hopes, some victories — more defeats- 
Disappointments, sorrows, pains — 

Joy and grief 

Mingled indescribably — 

Vain aches and wonderings 

"Who are we?" "Whence came we?" 

"What purpose serve we?" 
"Whither are we going?" 

And after all experiences, death 
And a soul launched into eternity. 

And this is all of life — 

So free and yet so dear. 
So long and yet so short, 

So bitter yet so sweet. 
To those 

That know thee not. 

And yet. Thou, God, 

Wilt bend Thine ear to hear him. 
To those that call upon Thy name, 

Thou givest faith to understand 
And eyes to see 

This life aright — 
The brightness of Thy love, 

The image of Thy countenance. 
Thy care of what is thine — 

Thy hand thru all, 
Leading thru eternal ages 

The whole wide world to Thee. 



Consecration 



Father, hear me while I pray: 
Turn my heart from sin away. 
Fix my thoughts on things above, 
Fill my soul with perfect love. 
Give me ears thy voice to hear, 
Give me will that voice to fear; 
Give me strength that will to do, 
Give me hands that strength to show. 

Take me as I am, O Lord, my God, 
Purge me with thy ever chastening rod; 
To thy service consecrate Thou me, 
Draw me ever nearer, nearer Thee. 
Nearer Thee in every thought of mine. 
Till my heart is fashioned like to Thine; 
Grace, strength, love and faith to me impart, 
Till I'm perfect, Father, as Thou art. 



31 



God is Lov^ 



I have wandered afar thru the kingdoms of 
men, 
And sought for the world's greatest gift; 
I have fathomed all secrets that lie in man's 
ken, 
The present and past ages' drift. 
I have traveled abroad as the knights did of old, 

And feasted on beauty and power; 
I have revelled in wisdom, and sought and 
found gold. 
And dwelt in both hovel and tower. 
I have tasted of pleasures the whole gamut 
thru. 
Appeased fond ambition's great maw; 
When I wearied of one, I have sought some- 
thing new, 
But never my world treasure saw. 
Then I searched in my heart, and in it was 
enshrined 
Man's greatest, best gift from above; 
And it lies in each heart, mayhap rough, un- 
refined, 
Yet there, and its name we call "love." 
'Tis the greatest of things in this wide earth 
below. 
And in the vast realm that's beyond; 



Where 'tis given the Lord's deepest secrets to 
know, 
There love, purest love, is enthroned. 
And 'twill rule all our lives and make Heaven 
appear; 
Relieve us from error's sad thrall. 
It will reign over these: Death, Sin, Hell, Hate 
and Fear, 
For Love is our God, Lord of all. 



Dead, But the World Moves on 



Crepe hangs upon the door, 

Within is settled deepest gloom — 

Hushed voices, noiseless steps 

Pale, trembling lips, a darkened room, 

A sundered tie, a presence gone — 

Dead, but the world moves on. 

Dead but the world moves on! 

Moves on alike to all; 
Moves on with smiles and joy; 

Moves on 'mid death and pall; 
Moves on nor stops to drop a tear 
Beside the corpse upon the bier. 

It may be, quite as people say, 

" 'Twere best for us that this is true," 

And yet, it seems, 'twould ease the pain 
And give us strength to start anew. 

If but the world would cease its smile 

And mourn and weep with us awhile. 

Oh, this world is full of graves! 

Each heart's a living tomb 
Of hopes and joys and loves 

Of which it was the womb 
Which, when they reach their greatest height, 
Are struck and shattered in a night. 



34 



Ah, there are those we'd rather die 

Than lose, and hopes there are 
On which we build our future lives; 

With them, death-struck, we'd rather die by 
far 
Than live alone when they are gone — 
Dead, while the world moves on. 

But 'tis not ours to choose, oh heart I 

Ours but to breathe a prayer! 
Ours but to live manlike 'mid men! 

Ours but to do and dare! 
Ours but to dry our eyes and smile — 

Drive pain out with love the while! 

Ours but to make a means — not end — 

Of genius, power, pelf, 
Affliction, fame or circumstance; 

Ours but to conquer self; 
Ours but to use our life's short span 
To serve our God and fellow man. 



35 



Success 

You say the world is rough and hard, my boy, 

And life a weary uphill road — 
A struggle in vain and full of pain 

With an alway increasing load? 

The world is rough and hard, my boy, 

And stern the ways of fate. 
Strife without, within — eternal strife — to win 

The honors that wait at Labor's gate. 

So is the marble rough and hard, my boy, 
And what would you think of one 

Who ever should, with tools of wood, 
Keep trying to carve a stone? 

Take but the chisel, Industry, 

The mallet. Truth, and above 
All else beside whate'er betide 

Strike with the arm of Love. 

One smile will cut more edges off 

Than many an injured frown. 
A laugh of cheer will bring you near 

To those who else would cast you down. 

Take Love and Faith and Industry, 

And laugh and smile and cheer and bless 

And by your toil thru life's turmoil, 

Carve on the world's hard stone "Success." 



A Hymn 



Oh, heavenly source of light and love — 

Thou spirit most divine — 
Pervade my spirit from above, 

And make thine essence mine. 

Oh, do I leave stern virtue's path, 
Or faith or wisdom lack? 

Ne'er give thou way to grievous wrath- 
Do thou. Love, bring me back. 

And do 1 fall or go astray. 

I may not ask, "Relent": 
Thou, Justice, wilt assume thy sway 

Until I may repent. 

Thus, God of earth and heaven, reign 

In justice as in love. 
And banish from the world all pain. 

All sin and shame remove. 



37 



Ode Three 



Were I to choose, dear Berta, a husband for 

you, 
I'd seek a man brave, tender, devoted and true. 
'Twould not be 'mid proud fashion's bold pomp 

and vain blare, 
Nor yet, 'mid wealth's gay, showy enticements 

and glare; 
Nay, nay, I would not seek for position or pride 
Or wealth or power or title for you as a bride. 
For what are all these for a soul to live on; 
A flame — nay, flash — nay, twinkle — and then 

they are gone. 
What are all these and travel and palace and 

dome 
Beside the sweet, calm joy of a dear little 

home? 
Nay, not a Croesus, nobleman, nor other than 
An earnest, honest, loving — yes. God-fearing — 

man, 
To bring you peace, contentment, and happi- 
ness, too, 
I'd seek if I were choosing a husband for you. 



88 



New Year's Resolves 



The old year now ends, 
The new one begins; 

Man vows swift amends 
For last year's sad sins. 

But the years pass by 
With no seemly token, 

And vows e'er so high 
Are made to be broken. 



Part II. INCENSE 



Baby Mine 



Bit of sunshine, 
Sky-blue-eyed, 
Sent from heaven 

To my side, 
With us mortals 

To abide — 
Mamma's darling. 
Papa's pride — 
Baby mine. 
Fairest beauty 
Ever spied, 
Far surpassing 

All beside; 
Take papa's knee 

For a ride; 
Here and there and 
Yon we glide — 
Baby mine. 
Bit of sweetness. 

Golden hair; 
Baby-liKe face. 
Ah! so fair; 
No other one 

Anywhere, 
Howe'er sweet, 
Can compare — 
Baby mine. 

43 



Dimpled darling — 

Oh, how rare — 
Catching people 

Like a snare; 
Tiny object 

Of our care, 
And none the less 

Of our prayer — 
Baby mine. 

How we love thee 

None can tell; 
None can feel but 

Hearts that swell 
Like unto ours. 

And as well 
In whose own homes 

Babies dwell — 
Baby mine. 

Could we lose thee? 

Nay, not so! 

Shouldst thou leave us, 

We must go; 
To maturity 

Wilt thou grow, 
Bearing that love 

None can know — 
Baby mine. 



Ode Four 



You've told me, love, "Good-bye, 
You have not told me why; 

I cannot leave you yet; 
But yesterday I hoped to-day 

Our wedding day to set. 



But yesterday your smile of love 
Raised me to heaven above 

From out the sordid haunts of men; 
Do not to-day send me away; 

Nay, love, but smile again. 



Those eyes, so deep and blue, 
Have read my love for you 

No words of mine could tell; 
Oh, can it be that ne'er on me 

Those eyes in love shall dwell? 



Those arms, so soft and white. 
Have clasped this neck, love, tight; 

Those lips 'gainst mine have oft been pressed; 
This heart so true that beats for you 

Has felt yours answer at my breast. 

45 



Will ne'er those arms by me be felt? 
Will ne'er those lips to kisses melt? 

Your heart an answer give 
To my heart beat? My love! my sweet! 

Bid my fond hopes to live. 



Nay? Then my hopes are vain, 
My life is doomed to pain; 

Farewell! if we must part. 
The love so rare for you I bear, 

I'll bury in my heart. 



No stone shall mark its resting place, 
No time its scar can e'er efface; 

But in its heart-tomb where 
No mortal eye aught can descry, 

My buried love is there. 



Amorosa Carmina Collegialia 
(College Love Songs) 



The Prep 

Lessons are hard, 

Dances are few, 
Honey is sweet, 

So, too, are you. 

The Freshman 

Now let me dream, do let me dream, 

Of days so short ago 
When you went out to parties there. 

And I went, too — your beau! 

But now I'm here; I've got a girl; 

Yet often long for home, 
And when we have vacation, dear, 

To your sweet arms I'll come. 

The Sophomore 

There's the sweetest girl in our town 

That I have ever seen. 
Her eyes are like two diamonds. 

Her face fair to be seen. 

I long to see her often, now. 
And in the night I dream 

Of how I've always gazed upon 
That brow of purest cream. 



And when I'm through at college, 
And clasp her form once more, 

I'll taste those sweetest roses 
In the "kiss behind the door." 



The Junior 

Now when I'm off at college 
I am thinking oft of thee; 

Say, when yon are at the dish pan, 
Do you ever think of me? 

I am lonely, Julia, darling, 
Knowing not what I may do; 

You, and you alone, relieve me, 
Write and say you're lonely, too. 

How the moons are slow in changing, 
How the days like ages fly; 

But we still can think beforehand 
I'll come home by and by. 

By and by we'll walk together. 
As we've done so oft before; 

By and by you, little sweetheart, 
Shall be mine forever more. 

48 



The Senior 

By no vain deception 

Of mental perception, 
Which, by the way, is known, 

I have reached the conception 

Of my joyful reception 
When to your arms I've flown. 

This joyless extension 

Grows into suspension 
Making one often groan; 

This fruitful contention 

Of inner attention 
Tells me you're sad and lone. 

In this, your condition 

Of awful perdition, 
Won't you come to my arms? 

With subtle transition 

To joyful fruition, 
We'll live Without alarms. 

When tender ovation 

Brings comely flirtation. 
Forth Cupid sends his darts; 

A blissful sensation 

Of our close relation 
Creeps o'er my heart of hearts. 



By friendly attraction 

Or loving reaction 
You have a warm place there; 

A longer protraction 

In bringing distraction 
Will drive me to despair. 

Is this the direction 

Of your sweet selection? 

Nothing you have to fear; 
Just make the election 
To take my protection, 

You see, I love you, dear. 



Ode Seven 

A Valentine 



Oh, maiden fair, in whose sweet sight 
All other things are commonplace, 

And dainty nymphs e'en take their flight 
With one glance at thy matchless face; 

Earth's grandest, greatest joy to me would be 
To steal from thy pure lips a kiss. 

While sipping nectar such as this, to me 
Would be eternal, boundless bliss. 



Ode One 

To Zetecalian 



A merry rhyme 

In shortest time 
T write — not for offence — 

So do not chime, 

With lips sublime, 
"Oh, come from off the fence." 

Could I beguile 

You for a while. 
My heart would swell and break; 

Which, should you smile 

In bonny style, 
A higher leap would take. 

But should you frown 

And throw this down; 
Should any such betide, 

With no fair crown 

My head around, 
I'm sure I'd suicide. 

Had I the power 

For one short hour 
To sing a new, sweet tune. 

My head would tower 

Where starlights flower 
And strike against the moon. 

51 



But, woe is me! 

The fates decree 
That I should meditate; 

And thus you see, 

So void of glee, 
I scratch my empty pate. 



There is a gem 

For diadem 
More priceless far than purest gold- 

A rare white gem — 

The fit emblem 
Of purity from days of old. 



This diamond bright, 

Tho such a sight, 
Tho crowning jet-black hair, 

Oh, never might, 

When in your sight. 
Seem even passing fair. 



The roses sweet 

Our vision greet, 
Their petals full unfurled; 

With color meet, 

With smell replete. 
They ravish all the world. 

52 



But, oh, the fame 

They ne'er can claim — 
This tribute is but due — 

From them as same, 

And very tame, 
All eyes are turned on you. 



Oh, could my pen, 

I wail again, 
A worthy tribute bring, 

The sons of men 

Would ne'er again 
Dare to attempt to sing. 



My fame would spread, 

Ere I was dead. 
To Jupiter and Mars; 

And when I'd fled 

To earthy bed 
'Twould reach the farthest stars. 



Though giving pain, 

The fact is plain 
That that is not my place; 

I'll never gain 

That honored plane, 
And so I'll "close my face." 

53 



Ode Two 



Had I the power of Jupiter 
I'd let no finite hand deter 

Me from service proud or mean 
To her so fair — past all compare — 

Whom I fain would make my queen. 



I'd bid my vassals linger nigh 

By day and night with jealous eye 

And wave all care aside, 
That no alarm or earthly harm 

Should e'er my love betide; 



And genii, gods, goddesses and all. 
Should ever wait upon her beck and call. 

Ten thousand thousand fairy hands and feet 
Should spend their might by day and night 
To make her every moment calm and sweet. 



Her slightest want should be supplied, 
No wish of hers should be denied 

That could one joy for her complete; 
From first to last I'd freely cast 

The universe down at her feet. 



54 



But yet, alas! 'twas not my fate 
To be assigned so high a state, 

For I am but a man; nor can 
I offer more of worldly store 

Than almost any other man. 



I cannot offer gold nor lands, 

Nor slaves to wait for her commands. 

But what I can impart — 
More priceless far than world or star- 
Is my own manly heart. 



A philanthropic mind, a heart — a soul — above 
All habits low of speech or deed — a boundless 
love — 
A heart — a soul — a life to her most true — 
These things I have to give, my vow for her 
to live — 
My life — my all — and this I hereby do. 



55 



Ode Tw^elve 



Behind each masterpiece of art 
That meets the soul's demands, 

Some graceful woman, in her part 
Of loved or loving, stands. 

Each sweetest tone, each dearest sight, 
Each greatest charm of earth. 

In which mankind doth take delight, 
In love doth have its birth. 

Beast, Bird, Fish — every living thing 
In earth beneath or sky above — 

Doth each its tender message bring, 
Hath each its note of love. 

The lark on lofty pinion soars 
High o'er earth's sordid throng 

And, rising, fervently outpours 
Its love in joyous song. 

Loud at the early sunrise hour, 

Speaks out the turtle dove 
To herald days awakening power 

And boldly coos its love. 

The modest lily of the field 

Puts forth its fragile bloom 
With sweetness nothing else can yield 

And breathes its love in sweet perfume, 

56 



And I gaze into your dear eyes — 
Blue as the sky above — 

Hold tightly close the form I prize 
And gently whisper, "Love!" 



Ode Five 



I hoped and dreamed in days of old 
My heart was live and blithe and free 

But love formed hopes and dreams of gold, 
Crushed, changed to aches and pains to me. 

Those hopes and dreams and aches and pains 
Of languored days long spent and sped 

Are gone, as snows upon the plains. 
Are gone for aye — my heart is dead. 



Thus thought I, conning the Siren's part- 
Deceptive, shallow, fickle, vain — 

But your sweet, gentle, guileless heart 
Has roused my own to life again. 

Again I hope, again I dream, again 
I build my castles, wondrous fair, 

And fondly prophesy times when 
You are undisputed mistress there. 

67 



The Prettiest Woman 

To Miss Helen Gould. 



I see the blamedest feller, Bob, 
Down to Calkinses' last night, 
To the Baptist people's sociable; 
You can bet that he was right. 
My, but he could speak an' play an' sing- 
Whistle like a bird er anything. 

Of all the faces that he made 
When he went to speak a piece. 

He'd act an' talk an' look jest like 
Dutchy Kraut er Mike Gillease, 

Man er woman er what he saw fit — 

Got us to laughing like to split. 

But he was awful common, Bob, 

When he found out I had ben 
In Cuby, ast me all about 

Boys he'd knowed an' where an' when 
We hed fit an' how it all was done, 
Made me feel as if I was some one. 

He got to talkin' 'bout the girls. 

Said as how his wife must be 
The prettiest woman in the world 

Then we argued fur to see 
Who is the prettiest woman anywhere — 
No two persons named the same one there. 

58 



One said that Mrs. Cleveland is, 

One said Cleopatra, one 
Said Lillian Russell, one Queen Bess, 

One Martha Washington, 
Venus, Ada Rehan and some more 
That I'd never heard about before. 

An' finally, they turned to me. 

Said, "Well, Pete, what do you think?' 
An' Johnny White turned right around, 

Grinned an' give a little wink. 
Said as how he knowed as how I'd say 
Saidee Trott was prettiest any day. 

But when they got their laff all out, 
I jest straightened up an' said, 

"These folks is good enough but yet. 
Of all women live or dead, 

Prettiest ever walked beneath the sun, 

I tell you that Helen Gould's the one." 

"If I was paintin' angels, now 
I can tell you what, I'd make 

Them all like Helen Gould. I'd put 
Her face everywhere; I'd take 

Off the Liberty Statue's stone head. 

Put on Helen Gould's sweet face instead. 



"Folks say Jay Gould was awful bad 

But they must mistook the man; 
Such good can't come from so much bad — 

Don't see how it ever can. 
I'll jest lay my pile that we don't know 
How er where he made his dollars go." 

"Now, if I worshipped statues, folks, 

I'd want her face on mine, 
An' on the coins an' everything — 

That's the end of my hull line." 
Then who'd speak right up but old John White — 
Said, "I reckon mebby Pete's 'bout right." 



60 



An Acrostic 



"W — ill you be my bride," 

I — asked my love one day, 

"L — et me live for you, 

L — ove, tell me that I may." 

I — heard the answer sweet 

A — nd tho the word I'll not repeat 

M — arriage followed at an early day. 

A — las 'twas not for aye — 

N — or long e'er we parted, my wife and I, 

D — ivorce was granted by and by. 

E — ver 'tis the things we've lost 
M — ake the greatest void, 'tis said, 
M — y heart and hers within a year 
A — gain were towards each other led. 

G — o bid the guests to come 

U — p to the second marriage feast 

A — nd let them see the splicing of the bond 

Y — ou never more will see released. 



61 



Part III. NONSENSE 



Ethel May 



'Tain't every feller that you see 

Has got as pert a sis as me, 

Fer Sue's as smart as she can be. 

She's ben to college quite a spell, 

An' shows up there 'mongst 'em right well. 

Fer readin' Lating, Greek an' such, 

An' talkin' Spanish, French an' Dutch, 

She simply can't be beat, I'll swear; 

An' as fer that planner there. 

You'd think, to hear the old thing tear 

'Twould get right up an' rip an' rare. 

An' she a-sittin' calmly there 

As if she didn't never care 

What her fingers did, nor where they went, 

An' they a-goin' lickety blinkin' bent 

Till the old pianner everythin' but splits 

An' she gives a couple partin' bangs an' quits. 

Oh, she's the sweetest girl in town, 

Or in the country all aroun'; 

An' when we go to church, well, well. 

If I don't cut the biggest swell; 

I never look at country people, 

But keep a-gazin' at the steeple — 

'N'at Sal Jones, the gal I used ter spark 

An' hug an' kiss of evenin's arter dark 

Till Tom White cut me out— I stick 

65 



My nose up mighty high an' quick 
When she looks 'round, an' gaze at space 
As if I'd never seed her face; 
An' while the preacher talks about our sins 
All 1 think of is, "Sue an' me's twins." 

O' course Sue's got a chum away 

At school; her name is Ethel May; 

She's comin' out to visit here — 

'Cuz Sue wentihome with her last year — 

An' stay at least three weeks; 

An' now she up an' speaks 

An' says she'll come this afternoon — 

I didn't 'spect her quite so soon. 

I'll skin to Miller's in a hurry 

An' borry their spick span new surrey, 

An' bring our racin' colts aroun'. 

An' show Miss Ethel — an' the town — 

That when I'm slicked up in my best 

I hold my head up with the rest. 

I'll talk off to her kind o' bluff 

An' make her think I'm just the stuff. 

Sue says she's awful smart, 

But course she'd take her part. 

I'll notice her enough to show 

Fer love of Sue, I'll gladly go 

Her friends and schoolmates, too; 

But, course, they're not "in it" with Sue. 

In every place, by day or night, 



Sue an' me's jest "out of sight." 

It's gettin' 'long the time o' day 

Fer me to go an' meet Miss May. 

I guess I'll ride awhile about 

An' when the train's a-pullin' out 

I'll drive along up to the landin', 

Close by the spot where she'll be standin' 

An' turn the rig a little bit 

As if I didn't care a whit 

Fer what she said er done, an' say, 

"I s'pose that this is Ethel May; 

I can't get out there, I'll be beat. 

But jump right in the hinder seat. 

These colts is feelin' good ter-day, 

An' when they get a little gay 

It's all a feller wants ter do 

To tend ter them. My sister Sue 

Didn't have no time to come to town, 

An' so I thought I'd drive aroun';" 

An' then I'll give her lots of guff, 

An' fill her up with piles of stuff 

About the town an' everythin' 

We see along until we bring 

Up home. I'll fool her, I'll allow. 

Gosh! there's her train a-comin' now. 

Whoa, Bill! whoa, Bess! Steady there! 

Don't you go to rip an' rare! 

I wonder if that's her a-talkin' 



67 



With the agent? Now she's walkin' 
Right down this way. What was it I 
Was goin' to say to her? Myl my! 
I can't think o' nuthin'. "Yep, I'm Jim. 
Sue's to home." I never felt so slim! 
An' there, she's dim right in with me; 
Should think she'd have nuff sense to see 
The hinder seat is just her place. 
But, now, I'll look once at her face — 
Red hair; golly! reddish, sandy skin — 
Pretty, is she? That's too gol durned thin! 
There, she saw me lookin'! Get up, there. 
Bill an' Bess! Gee whiz! Get up! I swear! 
Can't you move along? I wonder 
What time it is? Two-ten. Thunder! 
What is it makes my head itch so? 
I never saw this team so slow. 
What time did I say it was? Oh, yes. 
Can't remember anything, I guess. 
Well, here we are home. Ain't I glad! 
An' still, it makes me awful mad 
That she's ben talkin' all the way 
'N'l couldn't think of "nit" to say. 
Well, what's the "diff?" Here goes to do 
The chores, an' pickin' cherries, too. 

***** 
Three weeks gone by — it doesn't seem 
Three days. I didn't never dream 
How fast time flew, nor that I'd give a cent 



How long she stayed with us or when she went. 
But now she's really gone. Well, I'll be beat! 
She isn't pretty, but she's awful sweet. 
An' pop, he says — the slickest thing of all — 
As I can go to college in the fall. 

;{: * * 4; 4: 

Three short years have passed away — 
Doesn't seem more than a day — 
Since I entered college, and yet, really, now, 
I'm a Senior. It is grateful, I'll allow, 
And passing pleasant just to know 
How changed I am from that ago. 
Sue says Miss May is coming soon — 
Now, really, 'tis this afternoon. 
I'll get a rig and man, and dress 
To kill, and slightly make her guess 
That I'm a dude. I'll curl my beard 
And get my monocle all geared 
To eighty-eight; sling on more dog than 
All others with coachman, footman 
And everything beside to take 
Her 'round, and home, and make 
Her feel surprised. Right now it's time 
To go prepare for eyes sublime. 
***** 

'Awnd this is shuah Miss May? Aw, me! 
Baw Jowve! Ahm awful glawd to see 
Yuh! Jawn, help the lady in. 
Gad! thwee twooly yeahs it's been 



Since you wuh heah, and you aw not 

Changed by a single, tiny dot. 

Sue'll be awful glad to know 

That you've come, awnd you cawnot go 

Befaw a month. Now, Jawn, don't dwive 

So vewy fast, me mon alive." 

Now, I'm running a great bluff; 

She don't like that kind of stuff; 

But, seeing that I have begun, 

I'm bound to have a mint of fun. 

Home so soon? How time does glide 

When you're sitting side by side 

With her in whom you take most pride; 

How short does seem each carriage ride. 

And I've been talking all the way homeward, 

While she's been silent, thinking very hard. 

I've met a few girls in my day, 

But never other half so gay. 



Two weeks have gone, and all too fast. 

Another visit almost past. 

"Gowing home to-morrow? Now, Miss May, 

Aw you weally shuah you cawnot stay 

The month out? Well, if we must pawt, 

I want to say befaw you stawt 

That I'm no fool, and hence no dude, 

Altho for fun, you see, I've stood 

The role two weeks; so here goes my 

70 



Monocle from out my eye, 

This stiff sky-scraper off my throat — 

I can't say I did ever dote 

On them. But now I want to say, 

Just for your ears, sweet Ethel May, 

In my big loving eyes you're worth 

The most of any girl on earth; 

So say the word, and I will come. 

When through at school to bring you home 

'Tis said! One kiss! Yes — two! three! four! 

And yet, so sweet, a dozen more! 

There, there, you smile — the deed is done — 

In one short year we two'll be one. 



71 



Ode Eight 



Through Linden, when the sun was low, 
I passed, a year and more ago; 
And there — oh, heart; why flutter so? 
I met a charming maiden. 



Summer went and autumn came; 

At A , in teacher's meeting tame, 

Once more, with joy, I met the same 
Bewitching, laughing maiden. 

Another summer came our way, 
When once upon a sorry day, 
I met a man whose homestead lay 
In Linden near that maiden. 



I said I knew a maiden there — 
A maiden sweet — a maiden rare. 
That day, I learned to my despair, 
A man would wed that maiden. 



Oh, fatal day whene'er we met! 
O day how much more fatal yet 
That made her someone else's pet, 
That self same naughty maiden. 

72 



O, Linden, girt with many hills! 
O, Linden, free from business ills! 
O, Linden, full of tucks and frills! 
The home of charming maidens. 

But Linden, sorrow not for me, 
For my bold happy heart you see 
Is from snares and meshes free, 
Of all designing maidens. 

Yes, gone are all those aching pains, 
And now I search where Cupid reigns, 
And seek for Beauty, Wealth and Brains, 
In one adored, sweet maiden. 



73 



*'In If* 

The rich man stood in his parlor door 
A thing he'd often done before — 
And spurned the agents of the poor. 
He wasn't "in it." 

They asked him to give of his great wealth 
To those who had neither gold nor health. 
"They'd a-had it if they'd sense to win it." 
And he wasn't "in it." 

And so with charities, churches and things, 
He grunts and smiles to himself as he sings, 
"I'll stop a-givin' before I begin it." 
So he wasn't "in it." 

Past the hospital door on a cold winter's day 
Went a hearse in which a rich coffin lay, 
Whose draping had taken weeks to spin it. 
He was "in it." 

A soul had knocked at heaven's gate; 
St. Peter sternly said to wait 
While he looked in his record book — it took 
but a minute. 

For he was "in it." 

Quoth St. Peter, "You've made a great sell, 
For you've bought a ticket straight to — well, 
Your elevator goes down in a minute. 
He was "IN IT." 



74 



NOTES 



NOTES 

My indulgent friend: — I have such a horror 
of long prefaces that. I have not attempted to 
do anything in the way of a preface but ap- 
pend this chronicle of observations and inci- 
dents in the form of notes so that they will be 
out of the way of all but the specially interest- 
ed. By producing these, I hope to save the 
labors of the posthumous commentator. With- 
out further explanation let us proceed. 



'*I Hain*t Got No Home** 

was begun during the summer after I was out 
of college. Work was continued for a year and 
the final transcript made, I think, late in 1894. 
A number of persons to whom I submitted the 
manuscript thought it very creditable and I 
was encouraged to send a copy to Current 
Literature. It was, however, returned with 
printed thanks. I think I submitted it to Mc- 
Clure's also, with the same result. After this 
I laid the manuscript away with the idea that 
perhaps it was not much good anyway. Two 
years later, however, I took it out and read it 
again. Being struck with it, I immediately 
committed it to memory. I think the first time 
I gave it in public was at Athol, Mass. I at- 



tended a meeting of the Executive Committee 
of the Christian Endeavor of tlie First Congre- 
gational Church of that city and recited the 
poem. This resulted in my reading it again at 
the public program I gave for the same soci- 
ety shortly afterward. It also resulted in my 
having an edition of 500 copies of the poem 
struck off. These I kept for sale during the 
next year. 

About this time I made my first professional 
trip to the middle west and visited Lodi, Wis. 
I had with me my manuscript of this poem 
and while calling on a young lady read her 
what I had written. She received it with such 
responsive feeling that I immediately wrote 
at the top, "Dedicated to Nettie M. Mills," and 
handed her the original manuscript. 

I was further encouraged while visiting 
Albert Lea the following summer or early fall 
of 1898 when I read the poem to a school 
friend of mine, Mrs. Bert Clements, who was 
quite poetically inclined, being a friendly rival 
of mine in school days. She said of the poem 
that it was like Riley only so much better than 
Riley ever wrote. Comparisons are odious — 
but this one coming when it did, as it did and 
whence it did was very grateful to me. From 
that time the i)oem has met with a great deal 
of favor wherever I have read it. It has been 

i 80 



called the greatest American dialect poem and 
a large number of other most complimentary 
things have been said. Altho I feel most 
thankful for all of these and full of hope that 
others may enjoy the lines, I am not ready to 
reproduce any of the comments here but desire 
to have the verses stand on their own merits 
with each hearer or reader. 

I have been asked if the poem referred to 
myself. To a large extent it does. Since 1894, 
when my father left Perry, X. Y., we have had 
no settled place of abode and I have had no 
place that could be properly termed a home. 

The wife of a relative once, after hearing me 
read the poem, said with tears in her eyes that 
their home was always open to me and I have 
been pleased to accept their hospitality on two 
or three occasions. 

After a visit to Geneva, N. Y., I received the 
following verses from one of the auditors: 

With a most humble apology to 
Mr. Carl C. Countryman. 
To the Y. M. C. A. 
Where they had a gay 
Young man to entertain them, 
Two girls in gray 
Went out one day 
For fun, and who can blame them? 

81 



"Now," said the young man, 

As the laughter rang, 
"I've some poems for sale if you wish them." 

But the maids — they knew — 

'Twas sad but true. 
That they would have to miss them. 

So the maid with a curl, 

A brown-eyed girl. 
There was nothing there to screen them; 

Just looked with woe 

At her companion, oh, 
For they hadn't a cent between them. 
Epilogue. 

Our homes are not complete. 

Our ways — not always sweet — 
We want that book before we vow to mend 
them; 

And please will you 

Those poems do 
Right up and straightway send them 

To Blanche M. Wintzer, 

4 Park Place, Geneva, N. Y. 

After hearing me recite the poem in Buffalo, 
N. Y., a lady said, "Why, Mr. Countryman, 
with your capabilities and your opportunities, 
I should not think you would find it hard to 
find a young lady to make a home for you." 

"Alas, madam," I replied, "appearances are 

82 



very deceiving. You never can tell from the 
looks of a toad how far he can't jump." 

"Perhaps," continued the lady, "you are too 
particular." 

"That may have something to do with the 
case," I responded, "but the fact is Them as I 
want I can't get and them as I can get, the 
devil himself wouldn't have." 

I told a young lady that once and she said, 
"Mr. Countryman, that's not true. You under- 
estimate yourself." 

I related this incident to another young 
lady who remarked' "Opinions differ." 



•*Sold an' Gone" 

I am unable to place exactly the period of 
this poem. I think it was produced during 
1895-'96. The theme was, of course, suggested 
by our old home in the woods at Iowa Palls, 
where my life from the ages of seven to four- 
teen years was spent and to which I was nat- 
urally very much attached. We, my brother 
and I, left with a firm determination to buy it 
back some day. I was the first of the family 
to view it again in the winter of 1892-'93, when 
I spent my Senior Christmas vacation there. 
The feelings that arose in my breast are best 
described in the verses of the poem. While I 



have not used "Sold an' Gone" so much I 
think it has been accorded atDout the same re- 
ception as "I Hain't Got No Home." 



**The Work of God" 

Which I consider of greatest merit of any 
of these poems, was also written during the 
years 1903-"04. I had several persons in view 
in writing this, notably a Prof. Bishop, for- 
merly of Perry, N. Y., now of Buffalo State 
Normal school, who rose by his unaided efforts 
from poverty, Rev. A. J. Canfield, D. D., then 
of Chicago, now of Worcester, Mass., our won- 
derful presidents, Washington and Lincoln, the 
former because he bridled his own fierce pas- 
sion, and the latter because he rose from the 
lowest obscurity to such position — not rela- 
tively but intrinsically. 

Times are when all the fates seem to work 
against man — when he seems to be without a 
friend and those to whom he naturally looks 
for support and encouragement fail him most. 
Illustrious indeed is he who doggedly — or bet- 
ter, persistently — labors on not only in spite 
of discouragements but makes those very hard- 
ships and rebuffs and discouragements instru- 
ments toward building up his manhood. He 
must indeed be near to God, who "maketh the 
wrath of man to praise Him." 



It is a proverb that "He who serves most 
abjectly rules most haughtily." How many 
people rise from servile positions to press 
most hardly on those beneath them. How 
many say in their anger, "If ever I have power 
I'll use it." How illustrious then is he who 
"makes his feelings, torn, expel unholy. God- 
less pride!" who makes his swelling heart the 
reservoir of human sympathy to be called into 
use when he has acquired distinction and 
power. 

It is a common circumstance that some mem- ' 
ber of a family usually considered not more 
than half bright, shows unusual intellectual 
capacity. A clergyman of western New York 
once told this story in regard to a prominent 
clergyman of his denomination: 

Some years ago in the village of Cortland, 
N. Y., lived a certain lad highly esteemed for 
his brightness and character. The good friends 
urged that he enter the ministry, pointing out 
that he must become a great ornament to that 
profession. Finally he was persuaded to enter 
the divinity school. At the same time a not 
overly bright scion of a half-witted family 
voluntarily concluded to enter the same school. 
Of course, he received little encouragement, 
but he persisted. A^ter following the two 
through the wanderings of a quarter century 



or more, my friend concluded: "Now the dull 
boy is occupying one of the most prominent 
pulpits of the denomination while the brilliant 
boy is preaching in some obscure parish in 
Massachusetts." 

All this is very commendable indeed, but he 
who springs from those apparently without 
moral perception to become a good man 
achieves the greatest success and he who ac- 
complishes all these things — has learned to 
master self completely — is unquestionably the 
greatest work of God. 



♦'The Man That Walks" 

These verses were partially written during 
my 2,000 mile tramp from Chicago to Portland, 
Me., and thence to Washington, D. C, in the 
summer of 1908, and completed during my 
election visit to Chicago that fall. This ex- 
plains the opportunity and the inspiration. 



"Query on Man" 

This screed was written about 1897, I think, 
though I find no date on the manuscript and 
I cannot locate it exactly. When preparing 
for this edition of the book I searched for the 
copy and finally found it. I do not know 
what to call it. I suppose I may as well say 



"Prose poem" and let it go at that. It ought 
to stimulate thought at least. 



"Consecration" and "God is Love" 

I think these must have been written in the 
5'ear 1900. I remember I had them put in 
typewriter type in Buffalo in the fall of 1901 
and sent them to a music writer to have set 
to music, but I was not ready to meet the 
financial requirements at that time, conse- 
quently nothing came of it. 



"Dead. But the World Moves On" 

This was written in the spring of 1899, with 
the exception of the last stanza. I sent it 
thus to my mother after the death of my dear 
brother, Rollin, in August of that year, and she 
gave the criticism that it seemed to her in- 
complete, so I added the last stanza. 



"Success" 

This poem was written, I think, in 1899, 
though it may have been a little earlier or a 
little later. I believe I sent it to Success Mag- 
azine but it was returned unharmed and was 
accompanied by a delicate little printed slip 
so familiar to the eyes of budding genius (?). 

87 



**A Hymn" 

I believe this poem was composed about 
1896. I think no special occasion gave rise to 
its production. 



**Ode Three** 

On the occasion of my visit to Lodi, Wis., in 
1897, after an absence of seven years, I was 
requested by an old friend. Miss Berta Chris- 
tier, to write a poem in her honor. This is 
the result. 



•*Ne'sv Year's Resolves 

Was written in my diary in 1897 and when 
I gathered the material for "Three Senses," I 
considered this poem fit to be included. It 
seems that one must feel a little melancholy 
at the close of a year unproductive of the 
hopes he carried in his breast at the begin- 
ning and hence this rather doleful tone, true 
as it may be to life. 



PART II.-INCENSE 
*'Baby Mine'* 

While visiting at Newell, la., in the winter 
of 1896-'97, a few verses of this poem rang in 
my ears in my early waking moments. Hastily 
jotting them down I returned from breakfast 
and finished the poem. This I contributed to 
that week's issue of the Newell Mirror. 



"Ode Four" 

Ode four was written in the spring of 1898 
at Lodi, Wis. I had in mind the story of a lad 
I knew east who was engaged to be married 
to one of the girls of town. But a new school 
teacher came to town and the girl left her 
lover for the chance of capturing the school 
teacher, failing in the attempt. The two had 
been together since youth and as both seemed 
to be very affectionate, the townspeople had 
approved the match. But it was a sad blow 
to the young man. I could but feel for him. 



"Amorosa Carmina Collegialia" 

I had something of this kind in view during 
my college course, after hearing an essay or 
poem written by Ben Jones, a fellow student, 
in something the same style. It was started 
I think before I left college but not completed 
till the summer afterwards. 



•*Ode Seven** 

This was written on the occasion of a val- 
entine party in Lodi, Wis., in 1897. 



**Ode One*' 

At nearly the close of my senior year in 
college or in the spring of 1893, our young 
Indies' literary society, the Zetecalian, being 
about to celebrate their quarter century anni- 
versary, asked me through its president, my 
classmate, Louise Bradford, if I would write 
some verses for the occasion. I complied and 
began the work, but the function was post- 
poned and finally given up entirely. During 
the summer following I finished the verses. 



"Ode Two'* 

This poem was begun in Minneapolis in the 
spring of 1898, in honor of a young lady whose 
name I have forgotten. It was continued at 
Horton, la., during the summer and trium- 
phantly completed in the fall at Osage, la., in 
honor of a charming but vain and fickle maid 
named Marie Ewartson, who entranced me but 
failed to keep faith with me. Though cut 
quite deeply I recovered presently to laugh 
heartily at my passion. 



"Ode Twelve'* 

This ode was written in the spring of 1908 
with no particular person in view though I be- 
lieve I did when I completed it intend to hand 
it to a certain coy lass in Chicago whom I had 
accompanied to one or two places. I left the 
last word of the last stanza blank and wrote 
below: "Give me the chanst and I'll show 
you." I never handed her the poem. 



**Ode Five" 

In numbering these little bits, I have fol- 
lowed the adroit and illustrious example of 
the Latin bard, Horace. Ode five was written 
about 1900. I cannot say exactly when. That 
is, the first part was. In 1904, I spent the 
summer with father in Arkansas. There I 
met a college girl named Emma Liffring. I 
need not enter into a discussion of our rela- 
tions nor our subsequent brief correspondence. 
I finally received my letters back and I have 
them labeled "The love letters of a fool." I 
wrote the latter part for her. It is surely 
strange to what idiotic lengths an idle fancy 
may carry us against our best judgment. But 
I handed her this poem and another labeled, I 
think, "Ode Six." I cannot find the manuscript 
of the latter. 



**The Prettiest Woman'* 

This was written in 1901. That fall I sent 
it to Miss Helen Gould. Whether it ever came 
to her eye or not I cannot say. At least I 
heard nothing from her in any way. 



'*An Acrostic" 

The room where I lodged in New Haven in 
1898 belonged to the establishment of a lady 
who had divorced her husband about a year 
before. They were re-married while I was a 
roomer in the house and I wrote this for their 
benefit. 



92 



PART III.-NONSENSE. 

"Ethel May" 

A little speech that I use in Introducing this 
selection to an audience is as follows: "When 
in college I chanced to be elected to the proud 
position of class poet. I thought that it was 
necessary to distinguish myself and the class 
in some way so I wrote these verses and 
named them after one of the young ladies in 
the class who had some of the characteristics 
of the heroine of these verses. Her first two 
names were Ethel May. I did not mention the 
last but that does not make any difference for 
it has been changed since — altho I was not re- 
sponsible for the change." 

I had been thrown more or less into the 
company of the aforesaid young lady in classes 
and had a high regard for her. The first I 
remember of the conception of the poem is 
saying to my brother jestingly regarding the 
lady what the hero said regarding the heroine 
in the last lines of the second part: "She 
isn't pretty but she's awful nice." The poem 
was begun in 1895 and completed the follow- 
ing year. It was first published with "In it" 
on a leaflet printed, I think, in 1897-'98. 

93 



**Ode Eight** 

The Linden referred to is a small village in 
western New York. In company with a friend 
of mine, Charles Owen, I drove from Perry 
to Alexander in the summer of 1894. We 
stopped at Linden and I met a young lady, 
Miss Howard. In the fall I attended teachers' 
institute at Attica and met her again. The 
poem tells for itself what remains. In the 
fall of 1895, I gave a reading in Linden and 
carried these verses with me. I allowed the 
young lady, now^ married, to read them, but 
did not read them in public — as she observed, 
"It was just as well that you didn't." The 
printer omitted one stanza in the first edition. 



♦•In It" 

I heard Leland T. Powers at the close of an 
impersonation of David Copperfield read a 
fragment he said he had clipped from a news- 
paper. It was something like the above verses. 
Wishing afterward to have such verses, 
tho not knowing where to obtain those Mr. 
Powers recited, and thinking I might possibly 
improve on them anyway, I wrote "In It." This 
v;as first printed in my brother's paper, "The 
Silver Springs Signal," and afterward in the 
leaflet with Ethel May as before stated. In 

94 



the first edition one stanza was omitted by 
the printer. 



With these notes I leave future editions of 
"Three Senses" in the hands of my friends, 
the sometimes critical and sometimes indul- 
gent public. 



JAN e V903 



